A Bit Not Good
by Zephyrs.of.Aura
Summary: No one but John shall ever see him this way. (Established Johnlock, College!AU, Uni!Lock, Fluff, Slight Angst, Sherlock if he'd met John earlier in life, Inspired by a NYT Article I read)


**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or the New York Times. Any recognized characters, locations, or newspapers are not my own. I just have a bit of fun.**

Author's Note: Alright. A few things before we get started. :) This was inspired by a New York Times article I read about parents "spying" on their kids in college via the "Peek" option on the Yik Yak app (a geo-fenced, anonymous social media). The sentence that I specifically wrote this fic for is as follows: "Nothing more ironic than hiding your gay pride flag in your closet so your parents don't see it when they come to pick you up". Anyway, that's about it, so enjoy!

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The front door slammed, rattling the flat's windows, "This is completely ridiculous!"

"What is?"

"The rubbish I just read!"

John sighed heavily as he looked away from his Medical Terminology homework and up at Sherlock from his place on the old brown sofa, "What is it this time?"

Sherlock tossed the newspaper he had crushed in his hands to John, "I can't believe you haven't seen this yet. It's everywhere."

"Shut up. I've been busy with class and picking up after you on a daily basis. Now which article do I need to read to understand what has you in such a strop?"

"…Page three."

"Right, give me a minute then. Sit down or something; your pacing is bothersome."

Sherlock threw himself onto the couch beside his partner with a huff, placing his hands together beneath his chin. When John put the paper down without a word a few minutes later, he spoke up, "She's going to know it was me."

"Wait, what?"

John didn't have to look at Sherlock to know his eyes were rolling as he replied, "Yik Yak. What I posted. They used it in the article. If Mummy is one of those weird parents which tries to subtly spy on their children, which she is, she's going to know it was me."

"Okay?"

Sherlock flew up from the sofa and stood before John, looking angry and a little panicked, which was an odd look on the man, "God, John! This could utterly ruin everything!"

Grabbing Sherlock's wrist in an effort to calm him, John squeezed the limb lightly, "All right. How exactly?"

"Mum can put two and two together, for one thing. The dates match up and reading the New York Time's Parenting Blog is one of her favorite pastimes. Though I don't see why. It's wholly boring."

"Which means…?"

"She's going to know I'm gay, John. She wasn't supposed to know that. I'm not ready for her to know that. Because of this, she could easy pull me away from Boston, the Work, and…you."

"Oh, come now, be reasonable. You think your Mum is really going to disown you or take you back to London for that? Like location matters? You're her son and she's never seemed like the sort to be so prejudiced. I've also never heard her say a single bad thing against the LGBT community. Besides, if it's grandchildren she would worry over, there's still Mycroft."

Sherlock actually snorted at that, and John could see he was holding back a smile. Good. As much as he refused to admit it, the man needed a laugh every now and then. Poking at Mycroft was usually the best way to draw a chuckle or two out of Sherlock, so John felt no shame in doing it often. Mycroft, in his opinion, was more insufferable than Sherlock anyway.

Looking slightly mollified, though still worried, Sherlock returned to his spot beside John, but this time, laid his head in John's lap. John's fingers automatically began combing through Sherlock's riotous curls. A distressed Sherlock was a Sherlock that needed care. He would never ask for it, and would certainly rather die than admit it, but John knew. So he kept running his fingers through Sherlock's dark hair and let his lover gather himself back up for as long as he needed.

Sherlock's gravelly voice cut through the silence in a whisper sometime later, "How are you so sure?"

John smiled at him, even though Sherlock couldn't see it. It was a rare occasion indeed when Sherlock felt the need for validation. A need for someone else's input. Someone's reasoning. John felt honored that Sherlock always came to him when he did, so he chose his next words with care, but sincerity, "First, I've met your mother and I literally just told you why in that case. Second, an anonymous post on Yak, posted on the day hundreds of kids were being picked up by their parents, from a school that has a little over thirty thousand kids attending at any given time from all over the world? Yeah, no. Mummy Holmes isn't going to know anything. I'd be extremely impressed if she did. The only way she's going to know, if she doesn't already from simply raising you, is if you overreact about this article and ask if she's read it or tell her outright. Doesn't that seem the most plausible to your more logical self?"

The silence from the man lying on his lap was deafening. It clicked for John a moment later when Sherlock continued to lay stiffly in absolute silence, "You already did that first bit of freaking out, didn't you? That's why you're acting this way."

"…I might have called asking if she'd seen it…"

"Okay, I take it back. Calling is so out of character for you that she might actually figure it out, because now she's definitely going to read the article. You never use the phone."

"People call one another all the time, John."

"Yes, but you don't. And that's the point. She's going to wonder why you did. Regardless though, my opinion on the matter still stands. Your Mum loves you."

"Perhaps she'll forget. Mum's memory is not improving with age. Or she'll think that I told her because I found the article ridiculous for something to be published in the New York Times." Sherlock had continued rambling throughout what John had said, so he doubted Sherlock had even heard him.

Rolling his eyes, John placed his other hand on the side of Sherlock's shoulder, "I love how, a few minutes ago, you were convinced she was going to know, but now you're trying to persuade yourself that she won't.

"Hush. I'm deleting all the…" Sherlock's cell phone rang from his pocket and he froze mid-sentence. Fishing it out from his trousers, he paled, "It's her."

"Moment of truth, yeah? Go on then. I'll start some tea."

Sherlock nodded as he pushed the call button on his phone and put it to his ear hesitantly. John left the room in favor of the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, Sherlock came in, looking shocked.

Putting down the kettle and turning to give Sherlock his full attention, John leaned against the counter, "So how'd it go?"

"It's…it's fine. She said it was all fine."

John smirked, "I told you that two years ago."


End file.
